


i guess i wanted you more than i thought i did

by tarredtypography



Category: Homestuck
Genre: (kind of????), Alternate Universe - High School, Classpects (Homestuck), Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, Humanstuck, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Lonely Vriska Serket, Mommy Issues, POV Second Person, POV Terezi Pyrope, Pining, Sexuality Crisis, Terezi Pyrope Isn't Blind, Trans Female Vriska Serket, Trans Vriska Serket, Useless Lesbians, please just assume all my works have trans vriska unless i specify otherwise ple, this is based on helium by glass animals and hot venom by miniature tigers, vriska is trans but its not really that brought up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:22:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27634739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tarredtypography/pseuds/tarredtypography
Summary: You think she’s letting you see what she does, how she grins when she slips another girl’s lip gloss into the sleeve of her coat.You think she’s a thief. You hate her.
Relationships: Terezi Pyrope/Vriska Serket
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	i guess i wanted you more than i thought i did

You think the girl next to you in AP English is a thief; she steals pencils, markers, the occasional piece of gum from someone’s backpack. You seem to be the only one who ever sees her, and you’re almost certain she can tell. You think she’s letting you see what she does, how she grins when she slips another girl’s lip gloss into the sleeve of her coat. 

You think she’s a thief. You hate her.

She sits next to you the next day, and you slide her a pencil before she can steal one. “You always forget them,” you say, and she laughs. 

She pulls a pencil (undoubtedly stolen) from her pocket and says, “Thanks, but I came prepared. The thought was nice, though.” 

You don’t talk to her for the rest of second period. You see her drop your blue highlighter into her pocket and smile at you with her perfect sharp teeth. You think about saying something, but before you can, she’s out of the classroom. 

She takes your seat the day after that, and the day after that, and the day after that. She never takes notes, only scribbles in a worn blue notebook. You looked over her shoulder once; she slammed the book too fast for you to see anything but the doodles of spiders in the margins of the paper. She leaves you a cherry red tube of lipstick the day after you offhandedly mention that red is your favorite color, and you don’t want to think about where she got it. 

No, scratch that — you don’t want to think about  _ how _ she got it _. _

You look away from your desk for a few seconds and find your English notebook missing. She winks and grins at you from across the room and you  _ hate _ her.

You wait for her outside the classroom the next day, but she never shows up. You sit at her desk —  _ your  _ desk, the desk she first took from you four days ago — but it feels wrong. You move a seat over and lie about forgetting your notebook at home. She doesn’t come to class, and somehow that makes you feel worse instead of better. Something blooms in your stomach, dark and sticky, and you shove it deep into the back of your head because it makes you bite your nails and frown when you think about her. 

You think about her all the way through to the bus ride home.

——

The next day, she stumbles through the door with her backpack half-open and a venti iced coffee in hand. She drops your notebook on your desk and slumps into her chair, looking absolutely wrecked.

“Hey,” She taps your arm, her mouth barely open as she speaks. “Do you get, like, any of this? I haven’t been paying attention for...pretty much the entire semester.”

You look up at the whiteboard. “Shakespeare. We’re doing  _ A Midsummer Night’s Dream _ ,” you mutter. “It’s the one with the faeries, and the guy with the donkey head, and...have you read literally any Shakespeare?”

Your thief cracks a grin. “Nope,” she says, popping the  _ p _ . She leans back, shucking off her jean jacket. “Let’s start with the donkey-head guy. Was he, like...born with it, or…?”

You shake your head. “No, he got cursed by the Fae King. Poor bastard, right?” A small smile creeps onto your face. “He was kind of an ass, though, even before the donkey head.”

She slaps a hand over her mouth to muffle her laughter. “I- oh my god.” Her smile is all sharp teeth and lip ring. “Holy shit, you’re funny  _ and _ pretty.”

You feel your face flush red. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“Are...are you flirting with me?” You raise an eyebrow.

She props her chin on her hand. “Depends. Do you have anyone to eat lunch with today?”

“You don’t even know my name.” You shake your head.

“That can change,” she says, sipping her iced coffee. “Nice to meet you, sorry for stealing your notebook. I’m Vriska. And you are...?” Her nails, painted blue and filed to points, tap the desk with  _ tak-tak-tak _ sounds as she talks.

“Terezi,” you say, against your better judgment. “My name’s Terezi.”

——

That Thursday marks your first real interaction with Vriska. She proclaims she’s “taking you out” and laughs when you ask whether she means on a date or with a hitman. You’re not entirely sure why you follow her through the cafeteria instead of going to your normal corner table, but she leads you out into the parking lot, stopping at a beat-up blue truck. 

“Here’s our ride,” she says, patting the hood of the car almost gently. “You get shotgun, so the aux cord’s all yours. Just don’t play country music,” she jokes.

You shake your head, laughing a little. “Nah, country isn’t my thing. At least men in country music. Women, however,” you say, climbing into the passenger seat, “make  _ much _ better country music than men do.”

Vriska nods. “Word.” She twists the key in the ignition and the car roars to life. “What d’you usually listen to?”

You shrug. “EDM, a little bit of rap. Lots of love songs too.” You open Spotify and scroll through your home page. “Have you ever heard Glass Animals?”

Vriska shrugs. “Yeah, I’ve listened to some of their stuff. Haven’t heard the new album, though.”

You give her a grin. “Well, you’re about to!” You press shuffle and let the opening notes of  _ Dreamland _ fill the car.

Two songs later, Vriska swerves the car into the drive-thru of a small building. “Okay, when I said I was taking you out, I meant to Taco Bell.”

“On a date?” You question.  _ Does it count as a date if it’s the first time we’ve hung out? _

“Only if you want it to be,” Vriska smirks. “I’m getting a Mexican pizza, what do you want?”

You think for a second, before declaring, “Tacos. Hard-shelled, with extra cheese and hot sauce.” You chew at your thumbnail. “Oh, and iced tea, if we’re getting drinks. I can help pay too if you want.”

Vriska waves her hand. “Nah, this one’s on me. Taco Bell is cheap as shit too, so we’re good.”

The two of you sit on the hood of the truck in the Taco Bell parking lot and eat your food, blasting the rest of the  _ Dreamland _ album. Vriska shows you the tiny spider tattooed on her ankle, and you show her the (admittedly shitty) scale of justice that you stick-and-poked onto your ribcage.

She drives back to school just in time for you both to get to your next class, and she scrawls her phone number on your hand in blue felt pen before you get out of her truck. 

“Bye, Terezi!” She calls, waving as she makes her way to her next class.

That’s the first time she says your name. It’s not the last.

The day after that Vriska waits for you at the school gates. The day after that, she meets you in the cafeteria, and the day after that, she asks if you want her to drive you to school. She’s almost apprehensive as she says it, her nails — black with silver tips, this time — toying with her earrings as the two of you walk to class, and you’ve always hated taking the bus anyways. She pumps her fist in victory and links your arm with hers.

She drives you home from school that day after the sun sets. “Hey, are you sure your mom’s not gonna be mad or anything? It is kind of late,” you ask.

Vriska stiffens. “No, yeah, no, she’ll be fine with it,” she mumbles bitterly. “She just doesn’t care about me at this point, honestly. Always ‘go do this for me, Vriska.’ Not even the time of fucking day.

“You should go,” she says. Her hands shake as she lays them back on the steering wheel. “I’ll be fine, really—”

“Vriska, hey. Look at me,” you cut her off, soft but firm, turning around. Her arm is warm, even through her jacket. “Do you  _ want _ to go home?” 

She shakes her head. “No, I don’t. That’s for damn sure.”

“Then don’t,” you say. “You can stay at my place tonight, I’m the only one home.”

“You’d let a stranger into your house, just like that?” Vriska half-laughs. You elbow her gently. 

“We’re not strangers, dumbass, we’re friends. One could say  _ best _ friends. Now park and come in,” you say, rummaging through your bag for your keys.

She walks up behind you as you’re unlocking the door. “You think we’re best friends?”

“Aren’t we?”

“Yeah, we are, it’s just…” She scuffs her sneakers on the welcome mat. “I’ve never had a best friend before, not really.”

You smile and grab her hand. “Let me be your first, then,” you say, pulling her inside.

——

It’s around eight at night when the two of you make dinner. You find a box of mac and cheese in the back of your pantry and Vriska refuses to let what she calls “your first dinner date” be plain mac and cheese, so you give her free reign over the spice cabinet while you boil water. Within minutes, she’s got some kind of sauce cooking on the other stovetop burner, sizzling with diced meat and onions and the smell of cayenne pepper. 

Vriska’s eyes narrow as she tosses the mixture. “So…” she starts, her voice softer than you would expect it to be. “Uh, is this a  _ date _ -date, or are we just calling it a date to save my ego, or—”

You smile. “Do you want it to be a date?” you say, stirring the pasta. “Also, your ego has nothing to do with it. I just like hanging out with you,” you continue, lowering the heat on the pasta.

She laughs. “Whew, okay, good. You had me worried for a second there.” She places her hand on her forehead in a mock swoon. “Good to know my bestie doesn’t secretly hate me.”

“You didn’t answer my question, though,” you hummed. 

“What question?”

“I asked if you wanted this to be a date,” you say, turning to face Vriska. “Do you?”

“Do you want me to be honest?” she replies, her fingers ghosting along your arm.

“Yes.” You’re so close to her, you can see the smudges in her eyeliner.

“Then yes, I do want it to be a date,” she whispers. She’s taller than you when she’s this close, and you loop your arms around her neck, looking up at her. 

“Good, ‘cause I do too,” you say, and before you’ve fully thought it through, you tangle your fingers in her hair and kiss her. She tastes like cayenne and something sweeter, and you ignore the tacky feeling of her lipstick on your lips in favor of pulling back for air.

She’s staring at you, and for a moment you’re sure that you’ve fucked up —  _ god, you idiot, you dumbass _ — before she tentatively leans in and kisses you back.

“Now we’re even,” she whispers. 

“We are,” you murmur, your lips an inch from hers. 

“What does this make us?” she asks. “Friends, or girlfriends, or — do you even like girls?”

“I like you,” you reply. “And you’re a girl, so I think I do like girls.”

“You didn’t answer my question.” She parrots your own line back to you, smirking. “What do you want us to be?”

“I want us to be us,” you say. “I don’t want us to change to fit the dictionary definition of girlfriends, or anything.”

“We don’t have to change. Girlfriends can be this,” she says, “or something completely different. There’s not just one way to fall in love, Terezi.”

You look up at her, at her messy hair and her smudged lipstick and her hands, surprisingly soft, resting against your cheeks. “I like this way.”

Vriska smiles. “I like this way too.” Her eyes dart to the side. “Uh, I think we might wanna figure out the specifics of our relationship later, though. The mac and cheese is kind of burning.”

“Oh, shit,” you say, laughing. “Curse our romantic breakthrough for ruining our dinner!” 

“Nah, it’s not ruined, look. Just stir it a little more, it’ll be fine.” Vriska grins at you, and you can’t help but smile back. “Here, I’ll pour the sauce in.”

“No! I gotta drain the water first, otherwise it’ll be gross!” You say, hefting the pot and pouring the excess water into the sink. “Okay,  _ now _ you put the sauce in, and then I’ll add the cheese.”

“Okay, miss bossy, we know who’s in charge in this relationship for sure now, huh.” Vriska pokes your cheek teasingly, and you respond with a light jab to her shoulder.

“Shut up, I didn’t wanna ruin the mac and cheese,” you giggle. “You can’t pour the sauce in while the water’s still in the pot, that’s yucky.” You stir the sauce into the pasta. “C’mere, I’m grabbing bowls.”

Vriska watches as you spoon the macaroni into two bowls. “So...just to reiterate, we are, like, going out. Together. In L-word,” she says. “Right?”

“‘In L-word?’ What’s the L-word, ‘lesbians?’” You giggle, sliding one of the bowls towards Vriska.

“No, I mean — well, yes, but also no,” Vriska laughs. “I meant in love, but ‘in lesbians’ works too.” She took the bowl, her fingers brushing over yours. 

“In lesbians it is, then.” You smile and reach for Vriska’s hand. “Girlfriends do this, right?”

She nods. “Girlfriends do this, too.” 

Vriska leans over and kisses you for a split second, her fingers still entwined with yours. She kisses slow, a little clumsy, as if she’s never done it before. You wonder if she has done this before.

Secretly, you hope she hasn’t. You think back to nearly a month ago, back to when Vriska was simply the thief in your English class, a girl that you  _ hated _ — a girl that you’d never imagine being friends with, let alone kissing.

_ I guess I wanted her more than I thought I did, _ you think to yourself, and kiss her back.


End file.
